Free True by Riikka Pulkkinen Page B

Afterward she tells me derisive stories about these men. It’s all part of her secret plan, she says.
    In these first years, Kerttu changes her style from seamed stockings and short skirts to jeans and black turtlenecks. Later she’ll find new styles—she’s a chameleon. At the end of the decade she’ll be wearing a headband, halter tops, and white peasant blouses that lace up the front.
    In the summers she goes wherever she wants to, works as an au pair for some people she knows in America, stays in Copenhagen with a girl named Ingrid who lets her sleep on the sofa. She’ll come back from these trips with books and compacts and hats and words that I’ve never heard of, 45 s that she plays in the living room so loudly that the paint shakes off the ceiling in the apartment downstairs. We’ll listen sometimes to a hoarse-voiced woman, sometimes to blaring music with a name that’s just been invented, the kind my mother calls pounding. Not yet time for Indian ragas—that comes a few years later. Kerttu hasn’t yet tossed her halter tops in the corner, though by the end of the next decade she’ll proudly wear nothing but a T-shirt and jeans, her breasts under her shirt like defiant apples.
    But in 1964 everything is just beginning. Kerttu still wears her hair up in a beehive sometimes and coats it with hairspray from an aerosol can—a habit she will later come to disdain.
    Kerttu is looking for something, she doesn’t know what. She’s restless and moody and overflowing and happy and she’s decided that I belong with her in everything she does.
    She takes exams on five books at a time in political science, history, philosophy—sometimes books with ancient covers. She swears that one day she’ll shake the dust of this country off her feet and head out into the wide world.
    But now, in May of 1964 , she has sprayed hair and coal-black eyes, here on Liisankatu, and she’s looking at me eagerly.
    â€œYou’ll finally get away from Vieno. What kind of job did you get? Journalist? Interpreter? Or are you going to be a secretary somewhere? It’s not the best job, but secretaries have good opportunities for promotions.”
    â€œNo,” I say. “I’m going to be a nanny for a family.”
    Kerttu’s expression freezes, disappointment creeping into her face. She had imagined something else.
    â€œYou don’t even like to cook.”
    â€œI’m learning to like it.”
    â€œWhy?” Kerttu asks. “Why in the world would you?”
    I hear my explanation: “Be serious. You know I need the money. You know I hate working at the hat counter.”
    I haven’t asked my parents for money once since I moved to Helsinki. They wouldn’t have had it anyway. In fact they’ve got used to getting letters once a week with a couple of bills in them from my wages.
    â€œIt’s just a job,” I say. “I’m going to take care of the child while the wife is traveling for work.”
    â€œAre you going to do the cleaning and the shopping?”
    â€œYes, I’ll do the cleaning and shopping.”
    â€œSee?” Kerttu says knowingly, popping a piece of bread in her mouth as if the gesture severs her from the conformity of this world. “You’re going to be a maid.”
    â€œNo. This is a real thing. It’s a family. They said they wanted me to be like a member of the family.”
    Kerttu laughs bitterly. Defiance rises in me.
    â€œThey said I could have a room to use.”
    â€œAre you going to move?” Her eyes darken.
    I soften, go to her and hug her. “No. No, I’m not. I’ll just be spending the night there when she’s traveling. It’s easier that way.”
    â€œWhat does she do?”
    â€œShe’s a psychologist. A doctor. She studies children.”
    Kerttu’s expression brightens a bit. “What about her